


Velvet Glove

by Kissa



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Morning Sex, Reconciliation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: After having his heart broken and being chased away by Geralt, Jaskier wanders the paths of the Continent, managing to attract the favour of mighty beings even while heartbroken and grieving for what he lost. Geralt's and Jaskier's paths cross again in Vizima, and this time their relationship evolves on new terms.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 89





	1. A little bit of sweetness goes a long way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HardCandyscribblin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardCandyscribblin/gifts).



> This fic follows the rule of Eastern European fairy tales where, if you are kind to monsters and do not see them as such, you get rewarded and at the very least, you get to keep your life. 
> 
> Also, I gave Jaskier a beautiful horse, to even the playing field. It can't be that pleasant to always have to jog along your friend who is on horseback.

The farther he walked from that cursed mountain, the more clarity poured back into him.  
  
Geralt had never thought he would have the strength and the cruelty to do what needed to be done.  
  
Yes, he was perhaps the biggest fool walking the Continent. And the djinn’s magic had tied his destiny to that of the sorceress. But he still had his freedom of choice. His heart kept whispering another’s name in his chest.  
  
Jaskier, who never listened, did take his words to heart that one time. The bard had left, taking all the sunshine from the lonely witcher's path.   
  


***  
  
Jaskier walked and walked for what felt like weeks. His body had reached and surpassed its limits and the only thing pushing him forward was his pain.  
  
He had known Geralt didn’t return his feelings. He had known it before the witcher had thrown himself into the arms of a sorceress he had met hours before. But he had hoped he would be allowed to stay by Geralt’s side. Instead, he had been sent away to fend for himself on a path littered with threats and monsters, like a hound who got injured during the hunt and whom the hunter ties up in the forest because it can no longer earn its keep.  
  
Sure, he had gotten them in a lot of trouble, but Geralt had sealed his own fate every time. Jaskier had invited him to a party, no more. And Geralt had left there with a child. Of his own choosing!  
  
It was night already and the bard’s tears were drying on his cheeks. He was in a dark, deep forest and he saw a house with lights in the windows in the distance. Perhaps he could ask the owners of the house for water and a place to rest his head in their stables?  
  
When he got closer, he saw three old women, covered in black veils from head to toe, spinning wool around a fire and drinking strong alcohol, each from her own bottle. When their nimble fingers slowed down enough, Jaskier saw they were all made of metal. Still, that did not stop him from greeting the women and introducing himself before asking them for a sip of water.  
  
They invited him to sit with them around the fire and one of them wordlessly got up and brought him fresh water from a well near the house.  
  
Only one of them spoke, asking Jaskier what brought him to those woods.  
  
He told them he was pretty sure he was lost.  
  
“Could you sing us a song so we can be done with this wool sooner?” The old woman asked.  
  
And since Jaskier found the water had refreshed and invigorated him as if by magic, he obliged. He sang not just one song, but more, and not just a wistful ballad, but also merry jigs and some epic songs of conquest. He did his best to please his hosts, to thank them for the water and for letting him rest.  
  
“Drink with us, gifted stranger,” the leader of the three spoke again, giving him her bottle. Our fire waters will fortify you and tell your feet where to go so that you may reach your destination safely.”  
  
Jaskier was never one to refuse free alcohol.  
  
“Drink up, little bard,” the three women suddenly chanted together, watching Jaskier finish the bottles.  
  
“And you’ll know no lack,” one added.  
  
“No harm,” the second offered.  
  
“No death.” The leader added, her metallic fingers drawing a fiery symbol in the air and blowing it towards Jaskier. “Go, dear child.”  
  
Jaskier bowed and thanked the women, supposing their words were a sort of local blessing for travelers.  
  
It was only the next day, when he was already far away over hills and plains, that he remembered a story Borch had told around the campfire, about three monstrous women who weave the destinies of men and who ask for a favour. If they are not pleased with what they get, they eat their visitor. If they are pleased, they bestow mysterious gifts upon the man, woman or mutant who came their way.  
  
“Well, at least I escaped with my life.” Jaskier thought, shuddering. In the moment, it hadn’t occurred to him that the old women were scary. Weird, yes. He had seen so many strange things while traveling with Geralt and he had become desensitised, most likely.  
  
It was only later, when he was attacked by a band of robbers and escaped unscathed while the men sustained inexplicable injuries while attacking him, that Jaskier discovered there was some substance to the three old women’s words.  
  
As evening approached and he had entered a small town, he hesitated going to the inn because he knew he had no coin and instead tried to find some kind soul to let him sleep in their stable. But the innkeeper’s wife recognised him. She had seen him perform in Toussaint, years ago, and she insisted he come stay at the inn, entirely for free.  
  
Not only that, but when Jaskier was ready to leave the inn, the same fervent admirer gifted him a beautiful black stallion who immediately took to the bard, although he was a known problem horse who generally did not like humans.  
  
***  
  
His path crossed with Geralt’s again in Vizima.  
  
When Jaskier arrived in the city, he made a beeline for the King’s castle, where King Foltest had invited him to perform at a huge feast.  
  
The bard was in the stables, grooming his horse - whom he had sentimentally called Puppy, because he was loyal and goofy like one, when he saw a stable hand bring a familiar mare in by the reins.  
  
He finished braiding Puppy’s mane in a loose fishtail pattern and gave the horse a carrot and a kiss on the snout before he headed back to the castle, trying hard to ignore the cold fist tightening around his heart.  
  
But, as he crossed the yard, he was spotted and his name was called, incredulously, by Geralt.  
  
“Could it be?” The witcher asked, approaching. “You haven’t aged a day.” He sounded truly bewildered.  
  
Jaskier stopped in his tracks, resolve written across his features as he turned to face the witcher, measuring him with his eyes, slowly, from head to toe. Geralt was still wearing too old and too worn armour and he was now sporting some new scars.  
  
“Careful, Geralt. You might want to keep your distance, lest my presence attract more of destiny’s curses upon you.”  
  
By now, some noblemen passing by had stopped to watch the exchange.  
  
“Jaskier, I didn’t know better. I thought…I was wrong. I hurt you.”  
  
“You damn right did! Just because your mind leaves the realm as soon as there’s a sorceress present doesn’t mean you get to blame all your idiotic decisions on me. Arsehole!” Jaskier said, still in an even voice. It was more cutting this way.  
  
“I felt buried under blows. I didn’t want you to fall along with me.”  
  
“Maybe if you hadn’t chased me away so cruelly, your problems wouldn’t have become so dire. Do you really think it’s worse to have a friend by your side when destiny strikes you down?” Jaskier almost ended his reply with a hiss. “It turns out I’m not as helpless and dumb as you take me for.”  
  
“I am sorry for what I said on the mountain, Jaskier. I thought if I hurt you just enough, you would hate me and leave on your own, and I would not have to watch you suffer with me.”  
  
By this time, even King Foltest had arrived and was watching the exchange in the castle courtyard from a terrace on the upper level.  
  
Geralt noticed they had attracted quite the audience and he did not appreciate the attention. But Jaskier thrived on attention and he decided to gift the bard _this_ : he resolved to stay and talk instead of closing himself off with a “hmm” and fleeing.   
  
The Jaskier standing before him was a vision. He wore a black taffeta suit with silver accents and embroidery, a midnight blue cape and shiny black boots.  
  
“You broke my heart, Geralt. That was completely unnecessary. And then you sent me on my way, alone, on one of the most dangerous paths, riddled with monsters and robbers. If it hadn’t been for those three nice ladies in the woods, my bones would carpet the forest floor in Velen now!” 

Geralt’s entire demeanour changed and his lips formed an astonished “O” shape, along with a loud collective gasp from the crowd gathered around them.  
  
“You survived meeting the Three Crones of Velen?!”  
  
“As it turns out, some quests are best vaniquished by not throwing swords and signs at them. Who would have thought. Good day!” Jaskier said and turned on his heels, heading for the castle, cape billowing dramatically behind him. 

Geralt caught King Foltest’s eye and the ruler shook his head.  
  
“Witcher, do follow that man and win your friend back. Loyalty is worth more than gold. And you would do well not to upset destiny by antagonizing one who _is_ in destiny’s favour.” 

Geralt had to admit, the king had a point. He bowed curtly and followed after Jaskier.  
  
“Well, fuck.” He thought, as the gathered crowd saluted his decision with applause. 

***  
  
  
  



	2. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to face Jaskier and hopefully get his friend back.

“Jaskier, we need to talk.” Geralt called from outside the bard’s room door.  
  
No reply. And he could hear Jaskier in there.  
  
“I need to talk to you. I’m sorry.”  
  
The door opened and Geralt saw the maid had opened, on her way out with some damp towels.  
  
Jaskier stood at the window, looking out, wearing only a towel tied around his hips.  
  
Geralt found it odd that there was a fresh bath complete with salts, fresh towels and soap although it looked like Jaskier had already bathed.  
  
It dawned on him, a bit slowly, that Jaskier knew him well and had asked for a second bath for his road-weary friend.  
  
That is, if they still were friends.  
  
“I was wrong to say those things on the mountain.” Geralt started, not waiting for Jaskier to turn around. This was difficult. Words did not come easily to the witcher. 

“You hurt me the most, as though to make sure I could never come back. That’s not what friends do. I’ve had my heart broken before. But knowing that this isn’t who you are and that you did it on purpose to get rid of me? I don’t know if there’s any coming back from that. Also? You sent me down the mountain alone, knowing I was unarmed and likely to get killed. Just so you could run off and live your big romance with the sorceress.” Jaskier spoke, still looking out the window at a fixed point in the distance. Geralt could hear in his voice that he was barely holding back tears.  
  
If only he would turn around.  
  
Geralt’s voice was soft and subdued when he spoke next. 

“I lost control. I thought life was simple. Kill monsters, get coin. But then people came into my life and didn’t want to walk away. No matter how dangerous it got. I got scared, Jaskier. I can deal with my getting injured or dying. But not someone I care about. I didn’t want to be the reason you get killed.”  
  
“That still doesn’t give you the right to…” Jaskier burst, finally turning around, only to stammer at what he saw next. “To… to…!!!... GERALT!!!”  
  
The witcher was kneeling on the floor with his head bowed.  
  
Tears finally broke the dam and ran freely down Jaskier’s cheeks.  
  
“Geralt, get up. I want to stay mad at you, but I can’t. Things still hurt, but all I want is to be at your side again. Especially now, since, you know-” Jaskier held three fingers up. “Now get in the bath, I ordered it especially for you and I know you’d like one.” 

Geralt did as he was told, for once, and undressed, slipping into the warm and fragrant water.  
  
He was about to relax in it, when he remembered.  
  
“You’re jealous of Yen?”  
  
“I’m envious of the privileges she gained in your eyes, through means that I cannot compete with. I’m envious that she became so important to you in so little time, whereas I had to beg and fight for even a crumb of affection. I’m hurt that I’m expendable, but she can send you to do errands for her that get you the death sentence, yet there’s nothing you won’t sacrifice for her. But I’m not jealous.”  
  


“Hmm,” Geralt said, and seeing Jaskier’s outraged reaction, thinking it was his placating “hmm”, he raised a hand. “I didn’t consider that. I didn’t allow myself to consider many things about you, Jaskier, because of my fear. Yennefer can take care of herself, she is powerful. But I looked at you and saw a boy with a big mouth and a very poor sense for danger.”  
  
“In case you haven’t noticed, Geralt,” Jaskier said, sitting on the edge of the bed, uncaring if the witcher saw under his towel. “Chaos follows me and swirls around me, but it leaves me alone. The safest place to be is near me. I don’t need protection. You do. And why sleep in the woods on the bare ground when you could share a room, a warm meal and a warm bath with me?”  
  
“It’s not right to have it easy, not for a witcher.”  
  
“Do you also pleasure yourself by hitting your member with a hammer and feeling a rush when you miss? Because what you just said made as little sense as that.” Jaskier said, getting up again, but only to come sit by Geralt at his end of the tub, starting to wash and detangle the witcher’s hair. “You’re allowed to want to live and be safe and happy. I think everyone else is doing a great job of hating witchers, you don’t have to add to that.” He spoke, quickly adding: “Don’t you dare hmm at that.”  
  
Geralt sighed, but Jaskier saw, from his angle, that a smile was making the skin around Geralt’s eyes crease.  
  
“I cannot stay cross with you, Geralt,” Jaskier continued, “but it’s going to be a while before I mend from the wound you caused.”  
  
“I am at peace knowing I asked for your forgiveness and know you are safe from the threats I feared.”  
  
“Well, I’m supposed to perform at the feast for the king and his guests. But other than that, Puppy and I will be heading for Toussaint.” 

  
“You named your horse Puppy?” Geralt sounds amused. “That is such a rare and expensive horse.”  
  
“He was also rambunctious and impossible to tame. But he did like me, so there’s that. I think having a cute name and getting to see the world is a way better fate than being turned into stew and glue.”  
  
Geralt turned to look at the bard as though he only then met the man.  
  
“I always assumed you were too busy promoting yourself to be someone else’s hero.”  
  
“Well, Geralt, you’re not the one who coined taking in strays. Others can do so as well. Besides, the woman who gifted Puppy to me fed my ego profusely before doing so.” Jaskier replied, following with: “Your hair is done. And once it’s dry I’ll braid it so it stays out of your face.”  
  
NO arguments could be heard from the witcher, who contented himself with enjoying his bath and having, at least to some extent, the bard’s company and attentions.  
  
Later, in bed, as Jaskier blew out the candle and slipped under the covers, Geralt heard the soft sound of the towel dropping to the floor. Weirdly, the thought of Jaskier naked next to him under the covers made him feel like the room had suddenly turned into an oven and he was being cooked on high heat. It wasn’t the first time he and Jaskier shared a bed and it wasn’t the first time they were naked together. But this time… there was a feeling of… unresolved, unspoken things between them.  
  
“Geralt. I can feel you starting to get restless. The answer is no. I have no wish to lie with you in that way just for it to mean nothing or less. And I will not join with you to assuage your guilt. Sleep well.”  
  
Geralt went stiff in his spot, needing a lot of time to unwind again.  
  
Towards the morning, the door to their room opened and Geralt reached for his sword, only to see Baby, the innkeeper’s fat white cat walk in and hop on the bed, watching him suspiciously and going to curl up in front of Jaskier, who seemed used to the attention because he wrapped an arm around the cat and pulled her close in his sleep, tucking her head under his chin.  
  
Geralt allowed himself to fall asleep, convinced no one would disturb them for the time being and remembering that next to Jaskier was the safest place he could be.  
  
When he woke up in the morning, Baby had moved to his chest, her paws twitching in her sleep as she dreamt of chasing big juicy rats.  
  
Geralt reached out and petted the animal, calming her instantly. The way her fur felt beneath his palm was a new kind of bliss, unlike anything he could have imagined. Perhaps there was a place in the world for fuzzy, lazy things after all, and it was a more important place than he had ever suspected. But he still refrained from imagining a quiet life of retirement in too great detail. 


	3. Naked Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier have a more open conversation, which, knowing Geralt and his "20 words a day or fewer" policy, already counts as foreplay.   
> Anyway, I set out to write a different story but it turns out Geralt is a bit of a pillow prince... maybe in the future he can be brought around to more democratic sentiments.

They had found a routine.    
  
Whenever Geralt needed to hunt down a monster, he and Jaskier would part ways and each go on to do his part: Geralt to deal with the monster and Jaskier to secure them a room at the inn in the next town or village.    


Jaskier kept telling himself that there was no coming back from those words on the mountain - but his heart had healed just fine from getting to bask in Geralt’s closeness again.    
  
It was different, but still the same. The things he loved had persisted. It was still heart-wrenching to watch Geralt go off on his madman pursuits, taking contracts for Yennefer, risking his life to fetch her hard to obtain monster parts and well guarded artefacts, all in the hopes of seeing the sorceress smile for a while and give him a few hours of her time. Jaskier knew that those hours, when Yennefer could be arsed to be with the lovestruck witcher, were the most precious in Geralt’s life, the only real reward to his harsh existence.    
  
But the bard was not all-knowing.

It was morning and Jaskier returned to their room, his velvet coin purse full and his spirits high. He had sung the entire night and he’d been bathing in the adoration of noblemen and their wives.    


Geralt was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to detangle his hair after his bath.    
  
That was the sight Jaskier walked in on, Geralt sitting completely naked and relaxed, bathed in sunlight and looking breathtaking.    
  
Too bad none of that which was before his eyes was meant for him, Jaskier thought, removing the heavy velvet cloak and the outer layers, just wanting to feel the lightness of being himself under the bard persona everyone adored.    
  
“You must be exhausted. I’ll ask for breakfast to be brought up for you.” Geralt said, smiling briefly in Jaskier’s direction.    
  
“I’m not hungry. Just tired. But thank you. I freshened up in the tavern bathroom before coming up, too.” Jaskier said. He did want to crawl into bed and hide from the pain.    
  
Being surrounded by adoring crowds and people who liked him worked wonders in the moment, but the fall back to the ground was always painful. To a level on which it was just him, a man so blessed and so lucky in all things but this - able to have anyone but the one he wanted.   
  
“I’d rather stay up and talk though. Before you leave for the day.” He said, slipping under the covers.    
  
“I don’t have anywhere to be today.” Geralt said, leaning back, resting on his forearms on the bed and looking back at Jaskier. “Would you…? Pay me no mind, you must be tired.”    
  
Jaskier was not tired. It was just his excuse to hide in the covers and think of the utter curse of a situation he had backed himself into. The fact that Geralt was sitting on the bed naked and with damp hair was not making things any easier.

“I’m not tired, Geralt. I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with you. We don’t usually get the chance.” Jaskier said and sat up. “Do you want me to take care of that?” He added, his fingers already in Geralt’s hair, detangling the still wet strands.   
  
“I love when you play with my hair. It dries faster and feels lighter.” Geralt said, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. 

Jaskier paused and rested his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. Feeling the muscles shift beneath the warm, scarred skin, letting his fingers rest on either side of Geralt’s neck.   
  
“Do you know what this does to me? To be so close and not be able to call you mine?” Jaskier whispered.    
  
“Am I not  _ your _ witcher?” Geralt spoke, leaning his cheek into one of the bard’s hands, like a cat meeting a caress halfway.    
  
Jaskier’s silence took the shape of a curved blade between them.    
  
The sorceress. You belong to her, the unspoken accusation hung in the air.    
  
“I did not have much choice and it was my own doing. But I choose you. It’s always been you, Jaskier. I was afraid because I did not want to watch you grow old and die while I stayed the same. But my deepest wish was heard.”    
  
“I’m scared you’ll use me and move on. That our friendship will be diminished.” Jaskier said.    
  
The moment Geralt turned around to meet his eyes, he knew he could not deny the witcher anything, dignity and wanting to protect his own feelings melting away in the face of Geralt enveloping him in a warm look, unlike any the witcher had given him in the past.    
  
“There is no one else.” Geralt said. “I only have one best friend. One whom I love.” 

The words were not grand, but they were eloquent enough, coming from the witcher. They were enough to melt Jaskier.    
  
“Your hair will need redoing.” He commented, before cupping Geralt’s jaw in his hand and bringing their lips together.    
  
With a bold hand resting on Geralt’s abs, he motioned for the witcher to go lie down on the covers.    
  
Once Geralt lay down, Jaskier fetched a beautifully ornate vial from his personal beauty stash and placed it within reach.    
  
The vial was soon forgotten somewhere close by as Jaskier’s lips found Geralt’s again and he took his time taking in every detail about his witcher. The short, salt and pepper stubble on the chiseled jaw, Geralt’s dewy, almost glowing skin, the wet, curling snowy long locks of hair; the cinnamon tang of his morning propolis drops, the hitched breath - wait why was Geralt anxious? Or holding back?    
  
“I want you, Geralt. I have for so long. But I will be just as content following you on your adventures until one of us cannot keep up anymore, if this is your wish. You do not have to give anything you feel you might owe me, because you owe me nothing.” 

“Too many words, Jaskier. I want this. I want you.”

Those are the last many eloquent words exchanged between the two, Geralt invitingly lying back down and pulling the bard on top of him. Both of them moaning at the feeling of touching without the barrier of fabric between them, feeling muscle shift beneath soft, lightly furred skin.    
  
“You’ll have to take the lead, I’m unsure what comes next.” Geralt said, no hint of doubt in his tone. He knew for a fact Jaskier never had to pay for sex and few remain indifferent to the bard’s charms.    
  
Jaskier laughed softly. The name he’s built for himself came back to bite him. He may have woven himself an aura of great conquests, but other than a few fetching maidens and young wives here and there, no one managed to bed the most famous bard of the land.    
  
Not to mention the fact that, after the mountain, Jaskier didn’t find it in him to pursue love, not even a fleeting fancy.    
  
“Oh, Geralt. I fancy many. But trust only one. And that one is you.” He said. “Fear not, though. I’m sure we’ll think of something we can both agree on.”    
  
They kiss for what feels like half the night. For once Jaskier content with only kissing the witcher’s scars and not inquiring about their stories. Geralt finally gave into his longing and buried his hands in Jaskier’s soft curls, fingers carding through the length and palms cupping the back of the bard’s head, getting acquainted with every inch of him, sliding lower down his neck, shoulders and back.    
  
Geralt had always found Jaskier intoxicatingly beautiful, like a precious and beloved pet who is never kicked out for the night and who is taken to shows. Recently, he had learned there was even more to the bard’s beauty and it had been what had sealed the deal for him. He still did not understand how someone so beloved, so charming, so utterly gorgeous would spend more than a moment with him. Jaskier, he felt, belonged in a palace, not sleeping on the bare ground under the stars in his velvet and taffeta outfits.    
  
His legs parted easily for Jaskier, who settled on top of him and aligned their cocks, rubbing them together. They were matched in length, although Geralt was, in this respect as well as in all others, thicker.    


The moment was too charged for both of them to last long. They moved against each other, finding a rhythm and switching positions so that they could tangle their legs together and thrust in their shared grip. Learning what the other liked, letting hands stray, kissing insatiably through it all.    
  
Geralt remembered Jaskier’s oil had lavender in it later, but he could not tell how he found himself on his back, one ankle on Jaskier’s shoulder, the other on his lower back, trying to keep himself together as the bard now had two oiled fingers inside him rubbing a spot that made him see stars behind his closed eyelids and sent shivers of intense, almost frightening pleasure, all over his body. The sensations started in the pit of his belly and amplified until a mini-explosion filled him with blinding white light, then spread all through him, to the roots of his hair and to his toes. 

This felt right, he thought, and he wanted more, he wanted so much more and over and over again. Now that he knew there was very little which could harm his bard, he had no remaining restraint and fear. He wanted to be claimed and to make the bard his, really his for as long as they had together. He wanted to finally be allowed to love someone the way he knew he could love, taking them in as a part of himself and trusting without the looming shadow of eventual betrayal.    
  
He arched up into Jaskier, unable to warn him since it hit him unexpectedly too, but his pleasure peaked and crashed like an ocean wave, making Geralt spill himself all over Jaskier and his chests and bellies. The throbbing in his cock as he came down to himself felt so satisfying too. Geralt knew he would be coming many more times that morning, because his hunger for the bard matched his stamina. 


	4. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more of our boy Geralt getting loved on.  
> Y'all are going to have to live with me writing a long ass sex scene over three chapters or more before plot returns to the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to best add warnings here - because my intent was not to write kink. But I guess if you squint there's some veeeery light praise kink.  
> And Geralt is being a pillow princess for a while longer, but Jaskier loves that so it's alright. I'm sure they'll reach an agreement further down the road.

Geralt discovered that his ability to pretend everything was alright had its limits.    
  
The sound that had just left his throat was bestial, unnatural.    
  
Jaskier had spent the bigger part of the morning covering his witcher’s body in kisses. Not only to give pleasure, but also mostly to take. To take and save memories of being allowed in, allowed close and getting to do what he had wanted for so long. 

The false sense of lazy contentment Jaskier’s lips had lulled Geralt into revealed itself to be supremely dangerous. Being spoiled and showered with so much attention had distracted even his infallible witcher senses. Otherwise, how had Jaskier managed to get this comfortable between his legs and slither his tongue inside him? Feeling that supple, persistent muscle work its way inside him, feeling so open and completely at the bard’s mercy was what wrenched that one unhinged sound from Geralt before he settled on smaller moans and grunts.    
  
Geralt came to his senses - to all his senses, at once - when he realised how open and carefree Jaskier had gotten him. Eating him out like a kingly feast, drawing sounds from him Geralt had never known he was capable of, playing his body like some enchanted instrument and making his spine feel like it was made of water and light.    
  


He was scared of how much pleasure was flooding him through all his senses. And there was another level, one that was wholly new. A deep satisfaction… and a sense of pride? Somehow due to the fact that someone he loved and felt safe with was willing to put in the work and see him fall apart from a bliss overdose. Him. A witcher, a monster hunter, who put his life on the line for every coin he earned. One who was filled with shame if he cost anyone even the smallest thing. And now Jaskier was moaning softly, sighing between open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin of Geralt’s inner thighs, acting like this was a reward for him.    
  
Maybe it was some of the bard’s personal magic at play? That he felt so relaxed and limitless. He had always feared intimacy of any sort and he had always found it fair for the sex workers to rush him through the sex acts and treat him as an item on a grocery list. He hadn’t held it against Yennefer when she’s used him as her personal sex toy. And still she’d felt the need to cram in a stuffed unicorn as well. 

His cock lay untouched and rock hard on his lower belly, dripping and twitching, waiting for that little subtle push Geralt needed to tumble over the edge.    
  
Said push came in the form of Jaskier kneeling up, panting slightly and licking his lips with a wink. Geralt felt his cheeks burn momentarily. How come Jaskier was having such an easy time with this much intimacy? Was it something that they only taught at bard school?    
  
“I was thinking, Geralt. I have a craving. And you are really good at making other people happy.”    
  
“For coin.” Geralt felt the need to specify.   
  
“Well, there’s no coin involved here, but I promise it’ll be worth the effort.”   
  
“I won’t agree to anything blindly.”    
  
“Of course not, my love.” Jaskier purred.    
  
How easily the endearment flowed, Geralt thought, feeling his body react in a new and powerful way to being called “love” by Jaskier.    
  
“I’m going to put all these fingers inside you,” Jaskier continued, holding three fingers up and wriggiling them suggestively. “And you’re going to come so hard for me.”    
  
Geralt made a small sound that was somewhere between “I’m fucked” and “I want that”.    
  
“Are you going to do that for me, Geralt?” Jaskier persisted.    
  
“Yes… Fuck yes!” Geralt pressed out, watching Jaskier reach for the oil, adding more to his already slick fingers and to his other hand, which came to wrap itself around the witcher’s engorged and so far ignored cock.    
  
“So pretty. So good. All for me.” Jaskier whispered, sounding entranced, watching his hand move squelchily up and down the glistening cock. “You’re so big, Geralt. I can’t wait to feel all of you inside me.” He slid two fingers inside Geralt this time, as he spoke, waiting for the tight channel to adjust to the stretch before moving and scissoring his fingers.    
  
Geralt allowed himself to look down and he let out a low grunt at the view. He became aware of the very likely scenario of Jaskier actually getting to fuck him and he felt heat pooling even hotter in his belly. He’d always thought it would be more humiliating, awkward and painful to get to that point. And now, here he was, merely along for the ride as Jaskier was commanding and steering his body to his heart’s content.    
  
He couldn’t last and he knew it. He would spill way too early for his taste… actually, way too early for what was usually expected of him. He was fine coming as quickly or as slowly as the moment’s fancy dictated, but usually his partners tended to have different expectations for him. 

Jaskier seemed determined to toe the line in the sand that Geralt’s stamina extended to or at least to leave a trail of orgasms in his wake as he searched for it.   
  
Geralt couldn’t remember a time when being with someone had felt like this. With so much attention on him and so much pleasure lavished upon him. But he only had himself to blame for that. He had denied his feelings for Jaskier for so long, and he had pushed the bard away for even longer. Fear was really the strongest poison, he thought.    
  
Only now he was pulled back into his body and his mind was silenced as Jaskier’s voice commanded his attention once more.    
  
He felt his blush expand down to his chest when he realised Jaskier now had his promised three fingers fitting comfortably inside him. His cock was throbbing and leaking all over his belly and Jaskier’s hand wrapped around it.    
  
There was a look of concentration and delight in equal amounts on the bard’s face as he curled and spread his fingers inside Geralt, changing the angle ever so slightly with every outward pull.    
  
They locked eyes and Geralt knew, actually he also felt when Jaskier found what he was feeling for. He suddenly saw stars behind his eyelids and pleasure erupted from deep within him in waves that ebbed and flowed in tune with Jaskier’s strokes over that one spot inside the witcher.    
  
“It’s alright to let go. I want you to. Gods Geralt, look at you. Such perfection,” Jaskier purred, leaning over Geralt, his breath ghosting over the witcher’s hot and pulsing cock. “Come for me, my love. Let me see.”    
  
He was the most vulnerable he’d ever been, yet there was zero threat or any sense of danger, Geralt thought, right before he let go with a sound between a moan and a growl.    
  
“So good, Geralt, you did so well.” Jaskier purred his praise anew, leaning down and wrapping his lips around the head of Geralt’s cock, sucking the last of his release out of the still pulsing flesh. He sat up and looked at the pearly fluid coating his hand and marking Geralt’s abs in streaks. “You really are perfect, you know that?” He murmured, more for himself to hear than for Geralt, who heard anyway because of his enhanced senses.    
  
Jaskier only reluctantly went to the adjacent bathroom to fetch a warm cloth, coming back before Geralt’s come got the chance to crust over and start drying, cleaning his lover’s incredible sculpted abs and pecs before briefly freshening up himself and returning to bed.    
  
“I’m going to fuck you now, Geralt. You’ll be mine and mine alone. How does that sound?” Jaskier said softly, stroking himself and watching Geralt who was still recovering from his previous high.    
  
“I never knew you were so talented or I would have confessed my heart to you sooner.” Geralt said. “I’m ready for whatever you have in store for us.”    
  
Jaskier couldn’t hold back a small laugh. He could be a bit of a brat sometimes, which was why getting things to go his way was deeply satisfying.    
  



End file.
